


Rebound

by Dorothy Marley (dmarley)



Category: Law & Order, The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Crossover, First Time, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-03-17
Updated: 1998-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmarley/pseuds/Dorothy%20Marley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on the rebound, Ben Stone finds comfort in the arms of a tall dark FBI profiler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebound

" . . . and so, in the matter before you, the question lies not in the 'who,' but the 'why.' Why did Oliver Adams mutilate and murder three young men and women--"

No. Ben Stone made a face at himself in the mirror, and mentally reviewed once more. Not "mutilate and murder." Too awkward. He tried again.

"Why did Oliver Adams viciously murder three young men and women?" Better. "What compelled him to stalk Victoria Snow, Kathy Tynan, and Roger Ashbury? What reason did he have to end their lives? The defense will tell you that he had none. They will argue that Mr. Adams did not know the victims, that there is no evidence that his path and theirs ever crossed. But, ladies and gentleman, I remind you of this--their paths only needed to cross once."

Ben nodded at the mirror, satisfied. It would do for a start. He'd no doubt have to change it tomorrow, after hearing what Maddy Wheeler had to say on behalf of her client, but he was confident that his own points were sound, that he could fit them around her arguments like a vise.

Ben turned away from the mirror, turning off the light as he left Elizabeth's bedroom and shut the door behind him. It was the only full-length mirror in the house besides the bathroom, and he could never rehearse in there, surrounded by toothbrushes and shaving cream and bathrobes. And Mike was always coming in and . . .

Ben shut his eyes. Well, not anymore he isn't, he told himself roughly. You made pretty sure of that, didn't you? He opened his eyes, taking a deep breath, and forced himself to continue along the hall, back to the bedroom, and bed. His own bed. Big and comfortable, a massive piece of antique oak that took two strong men to move even the pieces. The bed he had barely slept in for the last year, but was now his full time once more. His and his alone.

Mike hadn't spoken to him since it happened. It wasn't cold silence, or accusing hauteur, or even any kind of emotion at all. He'd just stopped speaking to him, retreating into some kind of emotionless shell that Ben couldn't penetrate. And he was surprised at how much it hurt not to even try. Today even, while he was prepping Mike for the trial beginning tomorrow morning, it was so hard to say nothing, to not just take it all back, say he was sorry, say he'd made a terrible mistake. But he hadn't. And now he was going to his reward, to his nice, big, solitary bed.

It wasn't just the solitude that kept Ben awake that night. This trial was a risky one, touch and go. Too much hanging on psychology, and not nearly enough on hard fact. Sure, they had physical evidence, but it was slim, and circumstantial. The case rested instead on motive, and on Ben's ability to convince the jury that no motive in the world could explain the three killings. Ben's ability, and the FBI's profiler, a man Ben had met only once before, and on whom his entire case depended.

Ben turned over restlessly, mentally ticking off his witness list, running their faces through his head. Rogers, Olivet, Hadley, Scott . . . Logan. All good witnesses, experienced at trial. But this FBI man, he was an unknown. Yes, he was good at his job, and it was undeniable that his profile had led them almost directly to the right man. He'd seemed smart enough the one time Ben had met him, articulate, well-expressed, and intelligent. But "intelligent" didn't always translate into "good witness." Thank god he was at least good-looking, Ben thought, and blushed the next second for even thinking it. But it was true. Juries weren't blind, and Ben was painfully aware of how far a nice face and a nice voice could go. Even if what they were saying was utter crap.

Well, Special Agent Fox Mulder would be gracing the city of New York with his presence tomorrow afternoon, and he was scheduled for three prep sessions over the next three days before his appearance on Friday. With three sessions, Ben hoped, he could even make a silk purse out of a sow's ear if he had to. He just hoped he wouldn't have to.

\------

"Special Agent Mulder is here."

Ben nodded absently to Paul, and rose as he stepped aside, letting his companion slouch his long frame through the door. "Agent Mulder," Ben greeted him, holding out his hand. "Good to see you again."

"Mr. Stone." Mulder shook his hand, his long fingers wrapping around Ben's in a strong, but gentle squeeze. He sat down in the chair that Ben offered, then as an afterthought stood up again and removed his overcoat, thanking Paul as he took it and added it to the rack. He sat down again, crossing his legs, trying not to appear nervous.

"Thank you for coming, Agent Mulder," Ben began and saw him relax just a fraction, as if he wasn't used to being actually thanked for his presence. Interesting. "Have you ever testified at a trial before?" he asked, and felt a rush of relief as Mulder nodded.

"Twice," he elaborated, and then shrugged. "Well, three times if you count the time I was a defense witness."

Ben had to smile, just a little. "Good. Then let's get started."

He took Mulder through his testimony step by step, line by line, for nearly an hour, grilling him on every point of his profile, and how he'd compiled it, and what techniques he'd drawn on. As he worked, Ben felt himself begin to relax a little in his turn. Still, he was taking no chances.

"Thank you, Agent Mulder," Ben said at last. "I think we've made a good start here. You'll be available tomorrow?"

Mulder spread his hands. "You're my star gig," he said, and stood up. "I'm supposed to spend the day at the Bureau office in Manhattan tomorrow, but after that I'm all yours."

"All right." Ben rose to shake his hand. "Thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow."

\-----

By the time Thursday night came, Ben was beginning to worry. The case was still winnable, but the defense had poked at each of his experts with methodical efficiency, not demolishing their testimony by any means, but adding those tiny little questions in the minds of the jury that all too often led up to reasonable doubt.

And now Agent Mulder was late. Ben sat with his head propped in his hands, staring down at his notes, replaying the day's testimony in his head, his questions, the defense's questions, the answers. It was saying something, he reflected glumly, that the painful experience of having Mike on the stand for the first time had actually been the highlight of the day.

It had almost been laughable. Him questioning, Mike answering, both of them cool and professional, as if this kind of thing happened every day. And everything that _had_ happened screaming between them so loudly that Ben was surprised the entire court didn't see it. Mike had done well, he always did, but the tension between them was thick enough to cut.

Ben dragged his hands through his hair, wishing he dared cancel the appointment with Mulder tonight. Right now, all he wanted to do, he realized, was go somewhere and get drunk. And after that, go home, crawl in bed, and cry. Anything that would take his mind off this case, and erase the image of Mike sitting there, eradicate the memory of those clear gray eyes, that quiet, deep voice.

A soft knock on his door brought him out of his reverie, and he raised his head to see Agent Mulder standing in the doorway, looking at him uncertainly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I got hung up in traffic."

For a moment, Ben just looked at him, wondering if he dared pretend that they'd not had an appointment. He could send him away, just wing it tomorrow. The notion lasted about a second.

"It's all right," he said. "I was just going over the case."

Mulder came in, dropping his coat over his chair. "How's it going?"

Ben shrugged. "We're holding our own," he said diffidently.

"I thought it went well today." At Ben's startled glance, he shrugged. "I had lunch with Detective Logan," he explained. Ben's stomach dropped to his shoes. He barely heard him as Mulder went on. "He didn't say anything about the trial, of course, but I gathered that it went all right."

What the hell was he supposed to say? Ben knew he looked like an idiot, staring. But all he knew right then was that the thought of Mike having lunch with this man, the two of them sitting together, eating, talking shop . . . he'd never, until that moment, appreciated what jealousy really was.

Mulder was looking at him quizzically. "Mr. Stone? Are you all right?"

Ben blinked. "Yes," he said automatically. "Yes, I'm fine. Fine. I'm just tired, that's all. It's been a tough case." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to replay the last few moments, realized that Mulder still had a comment requiring an answer. "Yes, it went well today," he said belatedly. "I think Detective Logan's testimony was a big help."

Mulder's puzzled look returned, and Ben wondered what he'd said. But Mulder only nodded. "Well, I'll do my best to keep the momentum going," was all he said.

Ben nodded. "Well, then. Let's get started."

\-----

The next day, Friday, Ben sat at the prosecutor's table, listening, his hands folded in front of him as he listened to Agent Mulder. Sow's ear like hell. In prep, the man had been good: calm, focused, maybe a little nervous at first, but growing more confident with each session. But now, when it counted, the man was brilliant. Ben tried not to beam as he answered the defense's questions, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning outright when Agent Mulder laid waste to what could have been a tricky question about the accuracy of his profile with a single, bland quip. And when the questions finally ended, when Mrs. Wheeler had dug at every angle she could and was still unable to find a substantial chink in the armor, it was all he could do to keep from shouting in triumph.

"He did well," Paul murmured to him as Mulder was dismissed.

"He did," Ben agreed. "I might even get a good night's sleep this weekend."

But Ben's good mood only lasted until the end of the day in court. He left the courtroom feeling better about the case than he had in days, but by the time he reached his office again the joy had faded under the realization that, for the first time in years, there was absolutely no one with whom he could share the triumph. A few weeks ago, even two weeks ago, he would have come in smiling, picked up the phone, and shared the good news. If he were lucky, Mike would have been getting off soon, and if he was feeling particularly celebratory, they might have dinner. But tonight, it was a dark, empty office, and nothing to look forward to but a quiet meal alone.

The thought of going home and eating dinner by himself, of cooking a solitary meal for one, was so depressing that Ben picked up the phone without even thinking twice. He hesitated only a moment over the number, then dialed one that he hadn't used in years. One of his ex-wife's favorite restaurants, a place he'd taken Mike to once, and which Mike had hated. In other words, safe.

He arrived at the restaurant a little early, and was showered with apologies from Felix that his table was not ready, but if he cared to wait Felix would have a cocktail and hors d'oeuvres sent for him. Instead, Ben told him he would take a walk down the street, and Felix assured him that all would be ready when he returned. Ben didn't doubt that it would.

The walk helped raise his spirits a little. It was a beautiful night, unseasonably warm, and very pleasant. There was a slight breeze blowing up the street, and he felt it on his face as he turned at the corner and headed back, joining the rest of the crowd as they wended their way over to theater district. Most of the men were in tuxes, the ladies in evening clothes, and Ben felt suddenly underdressed in his brown trench coat and business suit, at least until he spotted a few others that, like him, had apparently stepped straight from work.

If he hadn't been amusing himself with his fellow strollers, he never would have spotted the dark trench coat ahead of him, hanging on a tall, lanky frame and topped with a head of thick brown hair. For a minute, Ben was sure he was wrong, it was too much of a coincidence. But then the man slowed, turning to look up at the building numbers, and Ben felt his brows go up. He sped up a little, intending to catch him up, but before he could close the distance Mulder had turned and gone into the front door of Rusterman's. Well, well. Coincidence wasn't even the word anymore.

But when Ben reached the door of the restaurant himself, he nearly collided with Mulder coming out, and they both offered apologies before Mulder had actually realized who he'd nearly run into.

"Mr. Stone," he said, surprised. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I could say the same." Ben nodded inside. "Are you waiting on a table?"

Mulder made a face. "No. I didn't think I'd need a reservation, but just my luck, they're booked solid." He shrugged. "No big deal. A friend of mine recommended the place, I thought I'd try it out."

Ben only hesitated a split second. "Well, I have a table waiting. If you'd still like to eat here, I wouldn't mind sharing."

"Oh, no, that's all right," Mulder said. "I don't want to interrupt."

"Not at all," Ben assured him. "Actually, I'd take it as a favor. I hate eating alone."

Mulder looked at him for a long moment. "So do I," he said, and there was something suddenly sad in his words, as if he'd recognized only at that moment that he did. "Okay," he said, more normally, and smiled. "Sold."

Inevitably, they talked shop. It was the only way to break the first awful silence that had ensued when they'd sat down across from each other in the small booth and realized that they were, for all practical purposes, strangers. So Ben had asked how long he'd been with the FBI, and the questions had flowed both ways until the waiter came for their orders.

"Fifteen years?" Mulder asked, looking at Ben slightly askance. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look that old."

Ben raised his glass. "Thank you." He sipped his wine, and set the glass down. "Actually, I've only been a prosecutor for about ten years. But I've been with the DA's office ever since I passed the bar."

"You never wanted a private practice?"

Ben shook his head. "I thought about it, of course," he said. "But I did a stint with a couple of the firms during the summers, and it didn't take long to realize that it wasn't for me." He felt himself smile. "I guess I wanted to put the bad guys in jail, not keep them out."

"Hear, hear." Mulder clinked his glass with his. "Logan was telling me about the DA's Squad," he said, after taking a sip. "It seems to be working out."

It was all Ben could do not to snap the stem in his hand. Damn him. Couldn't he say two sentences without mentioning Logan? "Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I think so." He cleared his throat, struggling for the praises that usually seemed to come to easily. "Captain Cragen--" There, that was a safe name. "--Captain Cragen has done a good job. I think it helps, having officers who are experienced with high-profile cases. And high-profile defense teams."

"You really think it makes a difference?"

"Absolutely." Ben set his glass down carefully, trying to warm to his subject. "In case you haven't noticed," he said dryly, "cops don't trust lawyers. Even District Attorneys. Anything that helps us have a better working relationship is for the good."

"But that's one of the problems, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

Mulder shrugged. "Well, isn't there a potential for abuse of the system there? I mean, take Logan. He's someone you've known for years, someone who's testified for you a hundred times. Doesn't that open the possibility for the defense to suggest that he'd lie for you?"

It was an innocent question. A logical question. Ben knew it. He'd heard it asked before, about himself, about his old friend Max Greevey. But to hear it now, hear his own hard words thrown back at him . . . Ben had felt the color leave his face, felt it return now in a flush of red. "It seems you and Logan had quite a chat over lunch," he heard himself say, and was surprised that his voice actually came out sounding normal, and even, and not shaking with rage.

Not normal enough, to judge from Mulder's frown. "I wasn't accusing you of anything," he said after a moment. "Sorry," he added, not sounding it, in fact sounding a bit miffed that Ben had taken his question so badly.

"Oh." Now Ben was sure his face was flaming. "Well," he said, trying to cover up his embarrassment. "To be honest, it's never come up. Not yet." He shrugged, furthering his attempt to be casual. "There's always the accusation that the District Attorney's office is in league with the police department. It's inevitable. We work together, toward the same goals. Suggesting collusion is practically a reflex." He cocked his head as Mulder smiled. "What?"

"No, nothing. It's just that Detective Logan said almost the same thing. I think you've had this conversation before."

For long time, Ben could only stare at him. "I'm sorry," he finally managed to say. "Would you excuse me?"

In the bathroom, he leaned over the pristine toilet for a long time, trying to decide whether it would make him feel better or worse to throw up. Worse, he finally decided, since the effort involved was apparently going to outweigh the benefit. He pushed his way back to the sink, splashing cold water on his face before finally raising his eyes to the mirror. God. He looked awful, white and sick like a man who'd just lost a pint of blood.

Delayed reaction, he told himself clinically. You thought you were handling it, thought you had handled it. But all it takes, two weeks later, is a few chance words from a total stranger, and it all comes back to you. It wasn't much consolation that their last conversation seemed to be very much on Mike's mind, too. Great. One more thing on his conscience.

He debated for a moment about excusing himself from the meal altogether, pleading sickness. He certainly looked the part. But what was he supposed to do then? Go home, to his empty house, and mope until Monday? Maybe that's what he deserved.

But when he returned to the dining room, he found Mulder already tucking into his entree, his own plate steaming gently in front of his empty seat. He couldn't abandon the man in the middle of his food, not when it had been his invitation. So he swallowed his sickness, crossed the room, and forced himself to sit back down.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't meant to keep you waiting."

"That's okay. I just started without you," Mulder told him. He flaked off another bite of fish, and chewed appreciatively. "This food," he said after a moment. "is incredible. Thanks for letting me piggyback on your table."

"It's my pleasure," Ben said, and actually meant it. "I would have hated to be eating alone."

Mulder ducked his head. "Yeah." He toyed with his fish for a moment. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't--" He paused, then shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?"

He bit off another piece of fish before replying. "I'm sorry if I said anything that upset you," he said. "I didn't--I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

Ben regarded him for a long moment. "It's all right," he said. "It doesn't have anything to do with you." He tried a smile. "It's just been a long couple of weeks."

"Yeah," Mulder said quietly. "Believe me, I know." He shrugged as Ben stared. "Hey, I was going through it myself not so long ago."

Ben wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going. "Going through what?" he asked.

Mulder waved his fork at him. "Break-up. Falling out." He paused. "Divorce. I'm sorry," he went on, "I don't mean to pry."

For a moment, Ben was actually angry, angry not just at himself and his transparency, but at this cocky, arrogant psychologist who thought it was his right to pry into the private life of a stranger. But in the next moment, the anger was gone, and he was surprised to find a profound relief take its place. "Thank you," he said presently, surprising himself with the gentleness of the words. "I didn't realize I was that--transparent."

"You weren't," Mulder said matter-of-factly. "But I've looked in the mirror lately. I recognized your face."

"I'm sorry," was all Ben had to offer.

"It's all right. I'm getting over it," he said. But then he raised his eyes, and smiled. "But I still can't get used to eating alone." He shrugged. "Funny, I mean it wasn't like we even ate together that much. My job, her job . . . but now that I don't have the choice, I miss it."

"I know," Ben said before he could stop himself. He gestured around them. "That's why I came here. We never went out much, and we never came here. Mike hated this place." He stopped, appalled, the instant the words left his mouth, not believing that he was actually sitting here telling this to a man who was all but a stranger. And maybe that was exactly why.

Mulder gulped a hasty mouthful of fish, his eyes suddenly wide. "Mike?" he repeated. "Mike Logan?" He gulped again, and Ben braced himself, feeling sick that he'd told this to a stranger, that he'd opened himself to his ridicule, or censure. But Mulder surprised him again. "I'm so sorry," he said, and sounded as if he really meant it. "He's a nice guy. It must have been hard."

Ben wasn't sure what to do in the face of this sudden understanding. "Thank you," he said, knowing he sounded stiff, and awkward. He wished very much, suddenly, that he wasn't here, having this conversation. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut, wished he'd never offered to share this table. And he wished he could just go home. He looked down at the suddenly unappetizing meal on his plate, and looked up across the table into Mulder's sad, sympathetic eyes.

"I'm really not feeling very well," he said, knowing full well exactly how lame that sounded. "I should go."

Mulder immediately tossed his napkin on the table. "I'll go with you."

"No," Ben said, with all the courtesy he could muster. "No, I'll be all right."

Mulder regarded him for a long, thoughtful moment. "No," he said quietly. "You won't."

And so Ben found himself leaving, not alone as he'd planned, but with a tall, brooding agent of the FBI at his back. "You don't have to come with me," Ben said for what was probably the tenth time, but with each repetition, the protest was getting feebler. This time, though, in the safe, private dark of the street, Mulder paused.

"You tell me to buzz off," he said. "I will." He turned to face him, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat, his face close to Ben's in the dim light from the door. "Look. You probably think that I don't know what you're going through. That I don't understand." He paused. "But I've been there, too. Someone on the job, someone you see every day." He stopped again, and looked up the street, suddenly absorbed in the tall, dark buildings around them. "Someone," he finally went on, so softly Ben could hardly hear him, "someone that no one even knew about, so no one understands why you're walking around like you just got punched in the gut. And you can't tell them." He shrugged, and smiled a little. "I've been there, too. And as someone who knows, I don't want you to be alone." He paused again. "And quite frankly, I don't want to be alone, either." A dark gust of wind shivered down the street, warm and soft, and Ben used the moment to gather his thoughts. It didn't take long.

"My car's in the garage down the street," he said.

\-----

On the drive to the house, Ben told himself firmly that they were not going to have sex. It was ridiculous. It had only been two weeks, far too soon to be jumping into bed with the first stranger that came along. He owed Mike more than that.

But the decision, he noted glumly, didn't bring him the relief he expected. He'd thought it would give him some comfort, some control, to decide in advance that nothing would happen. Instead, it just made him more depressed. What a message. Better to spend the night in a stupid, reckless fling of passion, one that could only lead to heartache and disaster, than spend it alone. Wonderful.

If Mulder was entertaining any of the same thoughts, he kept them to himself as Ben piloted the car through the crowded streets. They made the trip to Ben's place in almost complete silence, Ben presuming that Mulder was deep in his own thoughts. Or regrets.

"Would you like some coffee?" he offered as he let Mulder through the front door. "Maybe some brandy?"

Mulder shook his head. "No. I'm fine." He looked around as he shed his coat, taking in the polished-wood hallway, the sweeping staircase and the painting-hung walls. "Nice place," he said. "All yours?"

Ben nodded curtly. "Yes," he said shortly, and Mulder had the grace to look chagrined.

"Sorry," he said. He turned around once in the broad hallway, hands in pockets, ending up facing Ben again, his hazel eyes searching Ben's. "Look," he began. "Back there, at the restaurant--I'm sorry if I was out of line. You want me to go, I'll go."

Ben kissed him. So much for decisions. It was a completely involuntary gesture, one which he neither planned nor considered. If he'd done either, he would never in a million years have gone through with it. But he hadn't, and so here he was, standing in the hallway of his house, kissing a man he barely knew, kissing him without even knowing for certain that he wanted to be kissed.

For a startled moment, Mulder froze, his lips cold and unresponsive, and Ben made as if to pull away, sure that he'd just made a dreadful mistake. But then long, strong arms were sliding around him, pulling him closer, and the still lips under his were moving, parting under his, and then beginning to enthusiastically kiss him back. A careful, nimble tongue flicked over his lips, urging them apart, and Ben melted into the embrace, obediently opening his mouth to the kiss.

A long, breathless minute later, Mulder finally pulled back, giving one last lick along Ben's lower lip. "I'll take that as a 'no,'" he said quietly, and Ben felt himself start to smile, then felt the smile fade.

"Mulder . . ." he began, but a hard, firm mouth on his stopped the words.

"Don't," he murmured into Ben's mouth. "Unless you want to call this off . . . don't."

Ben swallowed. "I don't want to call this off," he said.

"Then don't." Mulder grinned against him, then returned to kissing him.

He took his time about it, moving them both slowly back until Ben felt the hard support of the wall behind him. The wall at his back, and Mulder's arms around his waist, holding him up, supporting him while Mulder slowly and thoroughly explored every inch of his mouth, nibbling his lips, biting them, licking them. He tore his mouth away at last, and Ben groaned as his lips began to travel down his jaw, kissing the rough skin, pausing to nibble under his jaw, then planting wet, sucking kisses down his throat as Ben tipped his head back, baring his neck to Mulder's attentions. Ben could have stayed here all night, letting Mulder kiss him, but the agent had other ideas.

"Is there somewhere we could go?" he asked. "Somewhere a little more comfortable than this nice hardwood floor?"

It was an effort to speak, but Ben managed. "Upstairs," he said hoarsely, and forced himself to stand as Mulder drew away, pulling him up with a hand on his arm. He let Mulder lead him up the stairs, and at the top a single nod was enough to direct him to the right door. Mulder pulled him gently into his own bedroom, and shut the door behind them. Then he turned to Ben and began to work at the buttons on his shirt. He opened his collar, pushing the cloth aside, and bent down to kiss the hollow of Ben's throat. Another button, another kiss, and another, Mulder slowly kissing his way down Ben's chest as each button gave way, each kiss a soft pulse of wet warmth against his skin. When the shirt was open to the waist, Mulder rose up again, running his palms slowly up Ben's chest, over his shoulders and down his arms, taking the shirt with him. Then he bent and slowly, delicately, licked at Ben's nipple.

Ben gasped out loud, threading his hands through Mulder's thick, soft hair, holding him right where he was as the other man sucked gently, then bit tenderly with his teeth before turning his attention to the other nipple. His hands, roaming carelessly over Ben's back, slid now to the front of his waist, and began to reach for the fastenings of his pants.

"Wait." Ben put his hands over Mulder's, pulling them out to the sides, tugging the other man up to face him. He leaned forward, kissing his lips softly, and whispered, "My turn now." He let Mulder's hands drop, smiling as the other man stood obligingly still, waiting.

With some belated embarrassment, Ben realized that he hadn't, until this moment, paid much attention to the body that had graced his office chair for the last three nights. The face, yes, the voice, the eyes . . . but not this. He indulged himself in a few moments of appreciation, letting his hands slide slowly over the broad shoulders, down to the flat waist and slim hips, learning the contours of Mulder's body. He was all lean muscle, strong and slender, not big, not broad, not . . .

Not Mike. Ben closed his eyes, his hands faltering, then stopping. He stayed a moment, his hands circling Mulder's waist, then he stepped back, shaking his head. "Mulder," he said, and bit it off, hearing the break in his voice. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I--"

Mulder's arms were around him in a heartbeat, pulling him close, drawing Ben's head to his shoulder. It was an embrace meant for comfort, not passion, and Ben took it for what it was, gratefully.

"It's okay," Mulder was saying softly, his hands slowly rubbing his back. "It's all right."

No, it's not, Ben wanted to say. It's very far from being all right. But he said nothing, simply closed his eyes and let Mulder hold him. The long, slim hands were still moving over his back, petting him gently, soothing. But Ben felt anything but soothed. His body was still burning with desire, and in spite of everything, he knew he still wanted him. Mulder was not Mike. And for the first time, the thought was actually a relief.

Ben raised his head, seeking Mulder's lips with his own, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp of surprise. To hell with it, he thought fiercely. This beautiful man wanted to make love to him, right here, right now. He'd been willing to bury himself in work, in booze, in solitude. Were any of those things better than burying himself in this man's willing arms?

He kissed Mulder again. "I'm all right," he said, and meant it. "I'll be all right now." Mulder, eyes closed as Ben kissed his cheek, his neck, accepted this unquestioningly, and Ben felt a sudden rush of tenderness. He set to work on Mulder's shirt and tie, his hands moving with sensual care over the fine cotton of the white shirt, the smooth silk of the tie. He pulled himself closer to Mulder as he worked, wrapping his hands around him until they were standing hip to hip, thighs rubbing together as Ben's fingers wandered down the front of Mulder's torso, slowly baring his skin. He stripped the shirt away lovingly, petting at the soft, fine hairs on Mulder's chest, watching his own pale hands moving against the sun-brown skin. Mulder raised his arms as the shirt fell away, joining Ben in stroking one another's chests, hands moving slowly, sensuously, heedless of how long they stood there.

Ben felt his lips curve into a smile as Mulder's clever fingers finally dipped to his waist, working slowly at the buttons of his trousers. He gasped out loud when Mulder's finger brushed over the hard shape outlined in the cloth, the rush of desire from that one brief touch almost more than he could take. His own hands dropped to the front of Mulder's pants, and while Mulder was still tugging on Ben's recalcitrant zipper he had him unbuttoned and unzipped, and the trousers and underwear were sliding rapidly down his hips. Ben followed with his hands, and then his mouth, leaving Mulder still groping the empty air while he slid to his knees in front of him, suddenly impatient to feel the hard cock jutting from Mulder's groin, to have it his mouth, tasting it, exploring it.

Mulder's cock was dancing in front of him, flushed and beautiful, curving in a perfect, smooth arc from the dark curls. Ben kissed the tip gently, feeling it jump under his lips, then kissed his way down the length, down to the soft, cool balls hanging underneath. He licked at each one carefully, hearing Mulder moan softly with pleasure, then licked his way back to the tip again. He planted another kiss there, sliding his lips down just enough let the soft, smooth crown inside, swirling his tongue over the curved head and then, very gently, beginning to suck.

"Oh, God." Mulder's voice was hoarse above him, his hands stroking mindlessly at the back of Ben's head, holding him still while Ben sucked. "Oh, God, please," he groaned. "Please . . ." His hands moved again, and Ben realized with a shock that he was being gently pushed away. He sat back, breathing hard, licking his lips as he stared up, surprised and even a little hurt.

"What?" he asked, and yelped in surprise as Mulder bent and pulled him abruptly to his feet, pressing his mouth to his in a hot, hard kiss. Then Mulder's hands were on his pants again, yanking at the zipper until it finally came down. Mulder's hands slid inside at once, curving over Ben's buttocks, pulling him closer.

"Please," Mulder whispered into his mouth. "Please, I want you, too."

It took Ben a moment to understand, and then he gulped air into his suddenly starved lungs, his cock leaping up at the thought. He kissed him again, nodding, and then began to guide them both to the bed. Ben paused for a second at the head of the bed, rummaging briefly in the nightstand, hearing a soft laugh from Mulder as he chucked a tube of lubricant onto the mattress. "Boy scout," Mulder murmured into the back of his neck, but it was he who reached out and moved the tube to the center of the bed, within easy reach of them both.

They knelt on the covers, naked now, kissing passionately until Mulder finally lowered Ben to the mattress, turning him carefully on his side before moving to take his own place facing the foot of the bed. They were both far beyond speech now, and Ben was actually feeling a little dizzy with desire, seeing the beautiful cock dangling in front of his lips, begging to be tasted. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to the now-familiar dark crown, and nearly moaned out loud as he felt Mulder's mouth engulf his own cock at the same time. He opened his lips, letting Mulder's length slide past, swallowing him as deeply as he could in one stroke, his body shaking as he felt Mulder return the favor below. Mulder's mouth tightened on him, sliding up and down in a small, undulating stroke before he wrapped his hands around Ben's thighs and began to suck.

Ben closed his eyes, drowning in the sea of pleasure, his cock held in Mulder's warm, sucking mouth, his own lips wrapped around the firm, delicious flesh in his. He began sucking in his own turn, and felt Mulder's throat vibrate around him as he moaned. They lay there for a long time, Ben sinking in a soft haze of desire as he took his time exploring the cock in front of him, licking it, tasting it, feeling his own penis being given the same exquisite attentions in return. He gulped, eliciting an involuntary gasp from Mulder, as the other man's fingers trailed down his thighs, curving in to explore the soft, heavy sacs nestled between his legs. Ben took his cue obediently, smiling as he felt Mulder's mouth tighten around him when his fingers began stroking between his legs, rubbing at the sensitive skin behind his balls.

Ben gasped as one of Mulder's fingers abruptly slid higher, slipping into the crevice between his buttocks to stroke delicately over the tight cluster of nerves. Then another finger joined it, this one slippery with lubricant, and Ben moaned, melting into the mattress as Mulder slowly, sensuously massaged at the tight little opening, the slick finger pressing in, insistent, until Ben's body finally opened to it, drawing it in in a rush of delicious friction

Ben was barely able to breathe now, his attentions to Mulder reduced to a mindless, helpless sucking on the cock that filled his mouth. Mulder didn't seem to mind, preoccupied as he was with finding ways to use his lips and tongue and fingers to drive Ben into a frenzy. A second finger joined the first in Ben's ass, and Ben felt his fingers dig into Mulder's thighs, holding him tight as Mulder slid both fingers deep inside, then pulled them back to add a third. Ben was moaning steadily now, his hands squeezing and releasing Mulder's thighs. He let Mulder's cock slide out of his mouth, unable to do more than simply press his face into the warm nest of curls at his groin, kissing open-mouthed at the hard shaft as Mulder continued to enthusiastically ravage his own, the loss of Ben's ministrations only seeming to help him focus his attention fully on pleasuring the other man.

The few shreds of coherent thought that Ben had left scattered as Mulder worked the third finger inside him, stretching him exquisitely around him. He moved the fingers in and out, once, and Ben cried out against him, muffling the sound in the cozy haven of Mulder's crotch. His cock swelled in Mulder's mouth, every nerve in his body shutting down to make way for the overload of desire. His world narrowed down to those two sensations: Mulder's mouth on his cock, sucking him hard, ravaging him with a deliberate, regular thoroughness, and Mulder's fingers driving inside him, building up a slow tsunami of friction. It didn't take long, the incredible combination of sensation raising him to a fever pitch of desire, until his breath fled in a helpless gasp, his heart froze in his chest, and nothing mattered except the hot mouth around him, dragging him to the edge, the fingers inside pushing him over. He came with a raw, helpless cry, clutching Mulder's body like a lifeline, the orgasm rushing through him in a wave of liquid heat, melting his bones to jelly.

He collapsed against the other man for a long moment, relieved to hear his heart start beating again, to feel his breath in his chest once more. Below him, Mulder was making small noises of satisfaction, nearly purring as he delicately licked at Ben's softening penis. His fingers were still inside, and Ben groaned soundlessly as he carefully slid them out, stroking his ass lovingly as he withdrew, as if he were thanking Ben.

It took Ben a long minute to register the hard, eager shaft still in front of him, and realize that someone had been slighted in the exchange. Not that Mulder seemed to mind at the moment, happily nuzzling at Ben's crotch. His hand was still resting on the curve of Ben's buttock, and Ben realized, with a sudden, stomach-tingling surge of returning desire, that he wasn't quite finished with him yet. He let his lips search out, seeking the smooth flesh in front of him, and heard Mulder's breath catch as Ben's tongue carefully grazed the underside of his cock. He let Ben slide out of his mouth at last, and Ben felt his hand tighten on his backside as Ben opened his mouth and took him in for a single, long stroke. He was still wonderfully limp from his own orgasm, every nerve in his body singing softly with the aftermath of passion, and he could suddenly think of no better finish than to be slowly fucked again by this man. He flung his hand out, seeking the tube that Mulder had discarded, and pressed it into the other man's hand as he let Mulder's cock slide out between his lips. Then he rolled himself onto his stomach and lifted his hips, spreading his thighs in an invitation he hoped he wouldn't have to repeat.

Mulder didn't disappoint him. His own desire must have been burning almost unbearably in him, he had spent so long paying attention to Ben, ignoring himself. Well, now Ben wanted it to be his turn, and he gave a sleepy purr of approval as he felt the mattress shift behind him, and a second later the nudge of a slick, hard cock behind him. He was already stretched, relaxed, loose, ready for him, and he groaned in sated pleasure as Mulder slipped inside, sinking his full length into him in one slow stroke. It was every bit as good as he'd hoped, better, even, with Mulder's quiet gasps of pleasure fueling him as he shifted against him, thrusting in small, slow strokes until he was satisfied that Ben was ready.

He took his time, and Ben let his eyes drift shut, spreading out underneath him in a soft, sleepy haze of satiation as Mulder moved in and out of him, his cock burning sweetly over nerves already sensitized and sated. Ben arched his back, helping, as Mulder lowered himself to kiss his neck and shoulders, his lips moving slowly across Ben's sweat-damp skin. It was a question, and a warning, and Ben responded at once, lifting his hips, pushing himself on his knees just a little. Mulder kissed him one last time, then braced his arms on either side of Ben's body and began driving into him in earnest, long, hard strokes that threatened to melt Ben's already sated body into a warm puddle of sensation. He caught himself groaning again, and the sound only spurred Mulder on, urging him to pump his hips more powerfully, harder and faster until he finally broke against him, his body shuddering into Ben's into a hot, liquid flood of release.

Ben sighed into the mattress, feeling Mulder's panting body fall gently on top of him, his arms collapsing in the aftermath of the orgasm. He was still inside him, but Ben stopped him when it seemed as though he was about to pull away, reaching back to sleepily pat his shoulders. "Not yet," he mumbled, and Mulder didn't argue. He pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Ben's neck, then turned his cheek into Ben's back, sprawling his long body over him like a warm, breathing blanket. Ben sighed again, closing his eyes, and then, to his embarrassment, fell sound asleep.

\-----

Mulder woke him in the morning, leaning over him to kiss him softly awake. He was dressed already, showered and shaved and wearing the only slightly rumpled clothes he'd had on the night before, and Ben felt a small ache in his heart.

"I'm sorry," Mulder said. "I have to go. My plane leaves in two hours, and I have to go and check out and pack."

Ben yawned, and pushed the sheets down, preparing to get up. "I'll get up and drive you," he started to offer, but Mulder put out a gentle hand, stopping him.

"No. Please." When Ben stared at him, startled, feeling a little hurt by the abrupt refusal, he saw Mulder's expression soften. "I'm sorry," he said. "You just look so good here." He reached out, caressing Ben's hip through the sheets, running his other hand possessively over Ben's chest, up to cup his face in his hand. "It'd spoil everything if I made you get up. Please." He leaned in and kissed him. "Please, just let me leave you here, like this."

The ache eased a little as Mulder kissed him again, and Ben felt a smile curve at his lips. "All right," he said. They kissed once more, and Mulder slid off the bed, stepping back to give him one last, appreciative look. "Thank you," Ben said quietly, and saw Mulder smile.

"No. Thank you." He grinned at him again, then turned and was gone.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in 1990, just before the first season of Law &amp; Order, and between the events of the episode "Travelers" and the pilot episode of The X-Files.
> 
> **Dedicated** to Jenny, written for the occasion of her birthday.


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